


The Space in my Bed

by ninhursag



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artists, F/M, Femdom, Mild Kink, Porn with Feelings, declan lynch needs it bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:40:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28359450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: An au where Jordan and Declan meet before the fairy market for tovezza on Tumblr. Really just an excuse to write some porn and feelings.**Jordan doesn't notice him at first. He's another slick, blandly handsome boy with perfectly styled curls. A blue eyed American, looking at a painting with a glass in his hand. Like he is pretending to care about it and pretending badly.It's only later she understands that she's got it backwards-- he's pretending very well to indifference.
Relationships: Jordan/Declan Lynch
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	The Space in my Bed

**Author's Note:**

> I know Jordan doesn't show her own work, but hey it's an au!

Jordan doesn't notice him at first. He's another slick, blandly handsome boy with perfectly styled curls. A blue eyed American, looking at a painting with a glass in his hand. Like he is pretending to care about it and pretending badly.

It's only later she understands that she's got it backwards-- he's pretending very well to indifference.

But even in the beginning she notices that the cadence of his fingertips is wrong, too nervous. And she looks harder and they're also too ragged, they should be manicured to match the rest of him. 

They'd never have met anyway, but a blonde woman catches him by the elbow. "Declan, Declan Lynch" Jordan hears her say. "Do you remember me?'

He startles, just for a moment, and there's something in his face. A hint of a fragile not quite something. And the nails.

And then it's smoothed and gone. "Ashley," he says, calm and steady. "It's lovely to see you. But I'm here with someone--" and he looks around as if he knows he is not.

And Jordan is walking up to his other side, all dumb impulse and a bright smile. "Declan," she hears herself say, winking just once at him. "There you are, love."

He blinks back at her and then smiles, like he's been expecting her after all. His smile is pretty, straight and white toothed. His arm under her hand trembles, but not visibly. 

"Jordan," he says. She doesn't ask how he knows her name, it's on the brochures for the exhibition. "You've out done yourself."

Jordan smiles benevolently at the unknown Ashley who has dropped her hand away.

**

He goes down on her for the first time that night. It's in the back office, the party still going ahead outside, her perched on the edge of a desk with her knees spread.

He goes deep, tongue ardent and knowing, fine nervous fingers gentle on her knees. She can feel the wet slide of his mouth, the slick wetness of her body. He hums a little, the vibrations of it make her quake.

After she pulls up her panties and smooths down her skirt before kissing his mouth. He tastes like her, salty sweet, his lips so red. She cups his chin in her hand and pulls him in again.

"I want to take you out," she says. "I want more."

He laughs, and it's a little mean. He's hard, she can feel it, but he doesn't ask her to do anything about it. "Isn't that my line?" He asks, eyebrows rising.

She grins back. "No," she tells him. His eyebrows stay up.

He pauses. Still and untouched, except on the mouth and hands. He doesn't look nervous, at least, or bland. He's thinking. She's not sure she likes that.

She takes one hand in hers. Presses her lips to the ragged nails. 

"I don't do serious," he tells her, very seriously, but doesn't take back his hand. 

"That's fine," she says and smiles. Kisses a fingertip and let's it slip past her lips. He shivers visibly.

Not thinking then and she certainly likes that.

**

"I want to take you out," she tells him again, the second time, after climbing off his softening cock. It felt damned good inside her and she gives it a last stroke before easing off the condom.

His eyelashes flutter beautifully and his lips part just so. His thighs are still splayed apart and marked from her nails.

"Ok," he says, when he can talk.

He picks the restaurant, and it's not unexpectedly a dull choice. Tapas and weak cocktails with women who wore shoes and bags worth more than a car and men in ties so tasteful they might as well be grey.

He looks like that too, like he belongs to this emptiness. Even his hands are perfect today, if she saw him at a gallery she wouldn't look twice if she didn't already know the truth of him.

If she didn't know that his wrists are lovely and strong and strained so tight he would hurt himself if allowed to. That he does.

The food is fine to go with the terrible drinks.

He gets the check and when they walk out, he slides his fingers to lace with hers. Hand in hand to his car.

He has a private garage spot under his condo and she puts her hand on his shoulder when he moves to get out, to unbuckle himself.

"Wait. Declan. Let me see to you," she says and he doesn't smile and his eyes are so big and blue and quiet, just for a moment.

She ties his perfect, tasteful tie around his straining wrists in the back seat of his volvo. "May I?" She asks after she's already done it and he's allowed it. Wordless and trembling.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I'm not good at this," he tells her when she prods him, laughing at himself a little.

She shrugs, smiling back. "Neither were Jesus, Mary or Joseph, I wouldn't think."

"Don't blaspheme," he says as if he hadn't started it and in good vengeance she jerks open his shirt and wraps her teeth around, a bare exposed pink nipple. He hisses and she doesn't let go until she's marked his perfect, creamy skin with her teeth.

"You're very good," she tells him after, as he lays there panting and soaked with his own spunk. Uncomfortable and cramped and perfectly tasteless. "Never think otherwise."

He rolls his beautiful eyes at her. "You're very odd," he says.

"I know you are, but what am I?" She shoots back and he glares before laughing.

**

She has a space, a studio, that's quiet at night. She brings him there and watches him admire half finished and half discarded sketches and slapdashes that will never see the light of a gallery.

He fucks her afterwards, on the wooden floorboards that must hurt his knees, but he doesn't complain. It's fast, the way it can only be with a young man, eager and shaking in her arms.

Too fast to bring her off with him when he comes, but good anyway, getting her warm and wet and dreamy while he lays trembling.

She finds a blanket to wrap them both in. It's old and stinks of paint thinner and oils.

"Jordan," he says and she kisses his mouth. "Jesus christ, who are you? What are you?" He sounds enraptured, not like he's asking a question.

"A dream of love," she tells him, like it's a joke and not an answer.

He flinches, and jerks away hard, like he knows it's not and that after all, it is. "No," he says. "You're not. You're not a dream. Please."

But she doesn't want to lie to him and so she only answers, "not your dream, but maybe your love, if you fancy it." 

His lovely mouth curls and she wonders what he's really afraid of, what he really knows and her own fear trickles in. But she banishes it, it can't be. He can't know.

"Right." He swallows. And then, very brave, always, he says, "I never have. Fancied it. Before."

"Nor me," she says and she knows, she knows they're going to need to talk and soon. But not yet. She doesn't need to lie yet.

She pulls him down and winds her knees around his waist and her hands into his curls.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @ninswhimsy on Tumblr if you wanna yell at me.


End file.
